


This is Not a Love Song

by breakneckbetty



Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakneckbetty/pseuds/breakneckbetty
Summary: based on original work by LilyduskAlternate setting for our pair. I've removed the age gap on this one.
Relationships: Tora/Poppy Wilkes
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

I'm adaptable and I like my new role  
I'm getting better and better  
And I have a new goal

This is twenty-five and ladies, let me tell you, it is looking fine. Our boys are sleek, strong and you can call them daddy if you want to, they don’t mind. Rolling fresh off the show room floor with the latest model of 2 mill’s worth of papa’s dollars, sporting that Veyron black, ready for action.  
Quincey lets the sun hit just right off his blond locks as he snaps it for the ‘gram before tossing the keys to Tora.  
“Shall we?”  
Tora can almost feel the horsepower in the handle as he opens the door and slides across the leather- smooth.  
“Buckle up, bitch.”  
This night is only getting sweeter as they make all the spots- dinner, drinks, club. Quincey is celebrating- he’s a best-selling author now, in the big leagues, legit. Monday he will be walking into the office of his editor to lay down a fat stack of pages, but tonight he wants to breathe in the euphoria.  
The entire gang is there when the boys enter the club, fashionably late. Quincey buys the first few rounds before he floats off to the dancefloor to lose himself in the music. The room is pulsing, thrumming and its hitting Tora in the veins. He’s not a drinker, but the vibe is on point this night and he is loosening up. He grabs a water and takes a stroll.  
Tora’s crew is on deck, ready to sweep the crowd for trouble. They are young, hungry and a little feral. He likes it that way, keeps things responsive- and that’s what he needs when shit goes down, responsiveness. The boss pays him well to make sure his heir apparent doesn’t stress about things like bullets or baddies and he’s the best in the business. He nods as he walks past the boys and they begin to patrol.  
Its baddies in abundance this night. He can feel the eyes on him as he moves through the crowd. A few seem sweet, he’s not opposed to grabbing a couple of numbers for future reference. There is one he sees ahead that warrants a closer look. She’s all curves and cuteness – his favorite flavor. He thinks about swinging over but he blinks and she’s gone.  
“Hey, honey, I’m going to get a ride home. You good?” Quincey saunters by, draped over the arm of someone who reeks of runways and haute couture.  
Tora smirks and nods as they pass. This is status quo on nights out. Dragged into public then left almost as fast as they get there. No worries, though. He may not go home alone tonight, either, and if he’s lucky, he may break that Bugatti in the right way.  
Damien cruises by, and Tora thinks he’ll send him out to make sure Quincey makes it home but his timing is off. He turns too quickly, doesn’t see what is near him and takes a bath in some lady’s drink. She’s taken a bath in it, too, but its not until she looks up that he sees it’s the curvy bombshell from earlier.  
“Huh,” he thinks out loud, caught off guard by her sudden appearance and disturbingly wet top. “I’m sorry about that. Didn’t see ya. How can I help?”  
“Not really sure you can. You’re pretty soaked, too.” She giggles softly and he likes it. He flashes a dimple in return.  
“I’m really sorry. Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you another drink.”  
“Oh, thank you but I think this is the final sign for me that its time to go home. Don’t worry about it, really. Accidents happen.”  
“Do you need a ride home?”  
It startles both of them once it is out of his mouth. Almost as much as when, after glancing at his left hand, she looks into his eyes and drawls “Sure.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Happy first day, Miss Editor-in-Chief!” 

Poppy is drinking in the good vides this morning with the same smooth pleasure she had sipping the congratulatory Mimosa Erdene handed her as she passed her office this morning. “Hair of the dog,” her friend had winked slyly.

This day is shaping up to be one of the top ten of all time, and she knows its in part because of things that happened long before the perfect cat eye liner she pulled off this morning- both eyes. Her pencil skirt shifts against the outside of her thighs and her mind becomes a highlight reel as she crosses the threshold of her office. The feel of soft leather against her shins as large, strong hands pull her thighs forward… tighter. She glances at the digital thermostat as she passes to her new desk.

A pair of shell toes peek out from her desk to a chorus of cussing and cord wrestling. She peeks around the desk to find the new IT kid, Gyu, fighting for control of the cable monster he had created there. His smile is sheepish as he looks up from the rat’s nest. 

“Hey Miss Poppy. I’m almost done here.”

“Sure thing, Gyu. No worries.” 

But there are worries, big ones as he finds the magic cord he has been missing and pulls two speakers and a keyboard across the desktop in a slow, destructive path into the sweet pink Capodimonte rose her Granny gave her for her 16th birthday. It’s going over the side and Poppy doesn’t even think before she finds herself diving head first over her desk to save it’s poor, fragile Italian life. The slide is short but she saves the porcelain just in time to see her life flash before her eyes because she is going to hit the ground hard. Thank goodness the CEO decided to go with plush for the office carpets.

Poppy is braced for impact, her free arm forward to try to break her fall and hopefully not her wrist but she is saved. It comes to her in stages, this realization. First it comes as the flash of a darkly clad set of knees that slide into view, then it comes as the feel of strong hands grabbing at her shoulders but sliding off from her momentum and third it comes to her as the definite feel of these same strong hands ending up with more than a handful each of Victoria’s best kept secret. Nobody moves for a three count. 

“Hang on.” Dark chocolate melts through her ear drums as she feels herself eased into a chair of firm thighs and warm chest. The hands have given up real estate on her girls but have only made a short move into the area of her waistline. She’s stunned into inaction, how the hell does she come back from this? Who in the office is she now not going to be able to look in the face again. She slides her eyes up just enough to see this suit is top notch and a little more to see that the tie is looser than socially acceptable. She also sees the dip of his collar bone there, right where he has probably put that delicious scent he’s wearing. She thinks that she might like to sink a tooth or two in that spot but sees that someone has beaten her to it. All right, bad boy, I see you.

Poppy takes are breath and seizes the day, shakes off the old timid her and decides to look this tiger right in the eye and thank him for the assist. Maybe if he doesn’t work on her floor, she’ll get some digits. She’s thinking all of this as she looks into the eyes of her hero and realizes that she already has those digits… written in sharpie on the inside of her right thigh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which much discussion is had about very cramped spaces

“Do. Not. Move.”

Quincey does not understand why his day is so #blessed, but he is not going to question. He has cracked open his lust red, gold embossed smut journal and is walking around the scene before him like a producer. Every angle inspires, every uncomfortable shift of the dainty lady in the big brute’s lap is fresh fantasy fodder. His Monte Blanc is flying over the creamy pages as he circles, until he very nearly stumbles over the feet under the desk. Menage! The page is aflame with notes. 

“Hello, Unfinished Business.” Poppy is feeling her traitorous cheeks heating up as the handsome devil she is all but straddling, again, gives her a little dimple. Yeah, she’s pretty sure its just as deadly in the daylight as it is by the light of a dashboard. “Ya phone broken?”

“What… oh… no its…” this is not sexy, not sophisticated, not the person she is trying to become. Time to regroup the troops. She’s on her feet and sorting out her mind along with her skirt. He’s not moving, though. He’s looking up at her with a deadly arched brow. 

“How’s the digits?”

Nope. Not today, Superman. Keep that stuff for Batman hours.

Poppy is around her desk and shuffling professional papers in a professional manner until Quincey returns to the physical plane. Gyu comes crawling out from the depths. Her space is now her own.

“Oh, hey! What’s up guys?” Gyu is grinning like a Cheshire cat, like he is known to all present. Comments about day jobs and night jobs and side hustles are bandying about the room. Regular old home week in the executive suite.

Poppy has decided to quit keeping track of all the strange coincidences happening in her new office. She is going to call order to this chaos and reseize the day. Lets not forget who is the HBIC and it ain’t Quincey.

“Thank you, Gyu, thank you. I’ll call if something doesn’t load right, have a great day!” She’s pushing him out, pushing Quincey toward a ridiculously comfy chair, and making zero eye contact with the Greek god who has taken up residence on the also ridiculously comfy couch across the room. Cats successfully herded.  
“Miss Editor in Chief! Monumental day! New beginnings!” Quincey is glowing. “I brought my bodyguard, Tora. Thank you for using him to inspire me today. That was glorious.”

“Yes, well! I have so much I want to go over. Here is a file with the timeline Erdene and I have for publishing. I’d like to give you some time to review it and let me know if you think you can meet these milestones. It’s an aggressive prospectus but you are quite prolific and I think you can more than deliver.”

Quincey is a glazed donut. Too much, Poppy thinks, too much too soon. There is a decidedly pointed snort from behind the Sports Section of the Times over on the couch.

“Yeeesssss. Okay, I’ll look at that…” the pastry waffles.

“Ya lawyers,” the Times reports.

“But I had some ideas I wanted to run past you,” the cinnamon roll rallies.

“Get ready,” Page Six advises.

Poppy smiles at her client indulgently. Maybe if she lets him spitball, he will have some focus later.

“So, I was thinking about a short piece about a hook up in a Bugatti.”

Poppy’s entire being distills down to the essence of that one word. Bugatti. From the corner of her eye she can see the newspaper lower. “I like this plan.”

“No,” Poppy is snapped back to reality. “No, Quincey, I think that is tone deaf.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, that is an extravagance that the majority of people won’t be able to relate to.” Pulse, blood pressure, cheek color at an all-time high in three, two, one…

“It’s fantasy, darling. Who doesn’t want a good shag in a multimillion dollar ride.”

“Indeed,” growls from the couch.

“I mean, how would it even be logistically possible: Cramped space, center console is a hazard, back seat is a joke…”

Quincey’s eyes are slits of suspicion. “You have a strange familiarity with the inner workings of Bugatti sex, Miss Poppy.”

“Me? Nooooo. Firmly in the 99% right here. I’m just good with source material research.”

Snort from the peanut gallery. 

“But we can put a pin in it if you want, Quincey. Maybe some other things first?”

Quincey is chewing on this, not ready to give up this toy just yet. “It is possible. The distinct shade of nude lipstick on my driver’s seat this morning tells me it can happen.” Shade and side eye catch the man on the couch square between the eyes, but this is deflected by a heavy dose of unfazed and unbothered.

“Well, that’s it for us today. Review that,” Poppy is pointing toward the folder and heading toward the door, entire being screaming Out! Out! Out!

Quincey waves his hand in parting and is gone. All that is left is a looming presence behind her. 

“You’re right. Too fucking cramped. How you feel about the back of a Jeep. That pedestrian enough for ya?” His breath is hot on her neck and every hair is at attention.

“Jeep sex,” she blushes.

“Jeep sex,” he whispers.

“It’ll sell.”


End file.
